Ice Cold
by bipolar broadway baker
Summary: Howard comes home to a painful surprise.


** So, I fell in love with the Avengers. ( I already loved them, but the movie was just so amazingly beautiful, I had to write a couple fics ) This could be triggering. BEWARE.**

Howard sighed as he closed the door of his house behind him. It felt like ages since he'd been home. Italy had been nice and he made spectacular headway in his work, but he missed the house. Loosening his tie, he was about to collapse in the massive, lavish front room, when he heard a terrified scream echo down the stairs. Up like a shot, Howard raced up the stairs, calling for his wife, trying to find out what could possibly be wrong. He didn't stop until he reached an open door where he could hear his wife's thick voice, sobbing.

"Please hurry!" She gasped from inside and Howard turned the corner into a room he barely recognized, and dumbly watched Maria put down the phone receiver with a shaking hand. Blood was everywhere.

Howard felt his breath catch in his throat as he ran to Maria's side, where she kneeled on the floor, cradling their only son's unconscious head in her lap. She was sobbing Tony's name, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood pumping out of the 16 year old's slashed wrists. He ignored the frightening size of the dark, warm pool surrounding his wife and child, taking over Maria's job of staunching the flow as she began to lose control.

"Did you call an ambulance?" He asked. His voice was a croak. Maria didn't seem to hear him, stroking Anthony's messy black waves away from his forehead.

"MARIA!" He hated to yell, especially now, but it got her attention, and her big brown eyes snapped up to his. Tony looked just like her. His heart clenched painfully. "Did you call an ambulance?" he repeated, slowly and deliberately. She nodded haltingly before turning back to her son. He tried to focus on the approaching sirens, willing them silently to go faster, as Tony's blood continued to pump out of the gashes and squelch sickeningly between his fingers.

How did this happen? He knew he didn't have the closest relationship with his son. In fact, they barely had a relationship at all. He didn't even know the kid was home from school. The sirens were just outside now, and he shouted desperately to the paramedics as Anthony's pulse grew weaker under his fingers.

xXx

Howard had never been so happy or relieved to be sitting in a hard, plastic chair, listening to a heart monitor. He hated hospitals. They were so confining and restrictive. They were full of death and disease. But, looking at the fragile, deflated teenager in the bleached white sheets, arms wrapped in gauze and strapped protectively to his side, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had never seemed so inviting.

Maria had finally drifted into a fitful sleep, her eyes still puffy and cheeks still blotchy with dried tears. It was a miracle he survived, he had lost so much blood. Two transfusions and a three hour surgery later, and Tony's chest rose and fell lightly as the anesthetic wore off. He looked so small. Apparently, Tony had been self harming for a long time. According to the doctor, it couldv'e started years ago. If Howard's heart was broken before, its pieces were now combusting in his chest painfully. He could barely contain the icy cold guilt. He could barely look at the boy in the bed; he had been through so much. How had no one noticed?

At first, he thought that the small twitch of Tony's fingers was just a trick of the light, shadows playing with his mind. Then, he looked closer, forcing himself to his son's bedside, just in time for his curtain of long lashes fluttered open. His bourbon brown eyes were bloodshot and confused. His eyes roamed blearily until they reached his white- wrapped forearms and restrained wrists. Trying to lift his arms, tony tugged experimentally once, then another time. He was starting to look desperate, thrashing on the mattress, tangling his skinny legs in the sheets. The mechanical beeps became erratic as Tony's eyes filled with tears and he started to shake with heartbreaking, disappointed sobs. Howard didn't know what to do. He hadn't had to deal with a a crying Tony since he was a toddler. Gingerly, he reached out and placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

It was probably the most painful thing he had ever felt when Tony flinched away, finally meeting his eyes, but only fleetingly. How did he miss this? He was distraught, clearly depressed, and Howard wanted nothing more in that moment than to to take his boy into his arms and hold him. But tony was shaking and gasping for air through the force of his sobs. At first, he didn't even catch onto the fact that he was speaking. His words were a garbled whisper, pained and angry. He was repeating the same words like a mantra.

"No, no , no... can't even kill yourself right..."

"Tony?" No response. "Tony." No answer again. "Anthony, look at me!" he was yelling again, but it worked just it had with his mother. His eyes snapped up to him and Howard knew just what he was going to say. Until he put a hand under his chin, holding his tearful gaze, and every thought flew out of his mind. Panic gripped him. How would he tell him he was sorry? How could he ever be forgiven, after the neglect he subjected Anthony to for the past 16 years? He had failed his son. Shame filled him as he realized that he could never apologize for something of this magnitude. He dropped his hand from Tony's jawbone, and suddenly he was stepping away, turning on his heel and hurrying from the room, unable to bare the disappointed eyes of his son.

xXx

It was hours before Howard returned. Looking through the blinds to the tiny room, he felt his vision blur. Maria held Tony in her arms with force that must've been painful, just like he wished he could've held him, a look of tearful relief plastered onto her face with a watery smile. Tony was withdrawn. He was mentally distant, and vaguely annoyed. Like he didn't care at all.

And Howard swore he had never seen so much of himself in Anthony.


End file.
